The Vows of a Father
The crisp September air managed to seep its
way through the quarter of an inch window gap that was left previous nights
before. I could still see the morning dew hesitantly scaling down the center of
the frosted glass window, like a father anxiously waiting for his child to
descend a playground slide. Judging by the way the sunrays were dancing across
the pastured green landscaping, I knew that the time when I say, “I do” was
drawing closer. In the corner of the third guest bedroom that I slept in stood
a mahogany, Victorian mirror wrapped in cob webs and noticeable carvings of
names of those whose bedroom it slumbered in throughout the generations. What
better way to rehearse my vows but to use the same mirror that my grandfather
passed to my father. Little did I know about the other generational gifts that
my grandfather passed on.
On the well draped California king mattress consumed by a red and soft yellow
floral pattern comforter lay my rented, gray satin stained Vera Wang tuxedo
with a soft pink tie and black patent leather dress shoes to match. Located
inside the left side of the jacket, my vows rested, waiting to be whipped out
and recited for an emotionally hungry crowd. With my vows in my right hand, I
took a deep breath and called for my father to be by my side. As a child, my
father would help me express my feelings and emotions through literature
instead of sports and other physical activities. With just a stroke of a pen or
pencil, I could create a world with no wars, sickness, or pain, but I was
incapable of sharing my feelings for another person. My father told me that
when the time was right, he was going to share with me one of his pieces that
he wrote in efforts to inspire me to tap into my emotional side.
“Mr. Elliott, Mr. Elliott,” I announced to my dad, “I’m ready for my father to
give me the big speech on women.”
Before my dad walked in the room, his overpowering musk of Cool Water filled
the hallway and forcefully made its way into the room like an intruder.
“Son”, my father prodded while gracefully walking across the wooden threshold,
“I don’t have a big speech about women or all the answers on how to make your
wife happy, but what I do have is a piece of history that will help you
navigate through your thoughts while you’re preparing your vows.” A smile
danced on the edges of my mouth in excitement after hearing the words pour out
of my father’s mouth like a running fountain of wisdom. My dad reached into his
back pocket and pulled out a folded, discolored piece of yellow construction
paper with gibberish written on the front it.
“Dad, what is that?” I questioned, “What am I supposed to do with a piece of
scrap paper”?
My father whispered in my ear, “It isn’t what
you do with it, it’s what you learn from it that matters.” My dad unfolded the
tarnished construction paper to reveal its contents. The title read, My Vows.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I shook my head in disbelief that he was going to share
the words that he spoke to my mother on their wedding day. I remained
apprehensive of the thought that my father and I connecting on this emotional
level, but I certainly was not going to goof up the moment by questioning his
motives. I needed to see the words that lay on the paper. My mind felt like a
volcanic explosion of curiosity and eagerness. Before my father could utter a
word, I noticed a stream of tears flowing down his face like a melting
pop-sickle.
Struggling to speak, my dad’s shaky voice began,
“Son, growing up I also had a hard time expressing myself face to face with
people. Your grandfather taught me to write my feelings down in a journal to
better my skills as a writer and to also develop my ability with interacting
with others. I passed the same methods down to you.”
Overwhelmed with affection, I confessed that
through my father’s inspirations on literature, I saw an increase in my grade
every semester in my English course. Before my father told me about his
childhood, I would have never guessed that what he instilled in me would carry
over into my success of literacy papers and other English assignments. My
father glanced at his silver Fossil watch and proclaimed that I had about
thirty-five minutes until show-time. Without hesitation, my dad bolted towards
the door like a burst of energy only to leave his vows next to me.
“Dad,” I blurted, “you left something.”
“I want you to keep it and read it for
inspiration”, my father addressed.
“I have a better idea,” I proclaimed, “let’s
read it together.”
Sometimes in life you just happen upon other writers and exchange ideas and express appreciation for each others work. What do you think? Should you go it alone or should you help each other out? What do you think makes the most sense?